Mark of the Black Arrow (24 page)

*  *  *

The Sheriff stroked the head of his pet as it presented itself to him, muzzle slick and damp. It dropped a blood-smeared piece of parchment into his free hand. After a moment he shook it open and read what he could of the contents through the viscera that stained it. There was no signature, but few people could have written the letter, which urged the king to come home.

He had been right to suspect that, after the prince’s meeting with the nobles, someone would try to send word to Richard. That was why he had set his pet to watch the road to the docks. No doubt that was where the messenger boy had been heading. Perhaps he should have been taken alive and forced to reveal who had given him the parchment. Someone at the docks was loyal to Richard, as well. The prince should have been more cautious. Still, there was no need to tip their hand. Not just yet, at any rate.

His pet pushed up against his palm. He lifted it and placed it on his shoulder. In two turns of its body it had curled around his throat and closed its eyes, becoming a fur collar once again.

*  *  *

The ride home was one of the longest ones Robin had ever made. By the time he reached the manor he was spent. Still, he forced himself to climb the stairs. This was not news he could keep to himself.

Robin stopped just short of his mother’s room. He had never once been inside. There were emblems that she had carved into the doorposts. She had told him when he was very young that they were magic, wards that would keep him—and him alone—from ever entering her bedchamber.

He had never believed that the markings were magic, but they might as well have been. He had never stepped foot across the threshold, not because the symbols kept him at bay, but because her hatred did.

As a child he had not understood when she would lavish affection on Robert, Becca, and Ruth, while at the same time shunning him. For the longest time he thought his dark coloring was the reason, that he was a shadow in a family of light and somehow unnatural. But years of his mother’s apathy, and sometimes animosity, had cleared that from his mind. Still, he loved her because it was his duty.

“Mother, I need to speak with you,” he called.

“Go away,” she called back.

“It’s important. Prince John has levied a tax. Each landholder is expected to give up one-half his harvest and one-third his retinue.”

There was a moment of silence and then his mother appeared just inside the door. Her eyes were wide.

“That’s preposterous,” she said.

“Yes, but it is what he’s demanding.”

“We’ll do no such thing!”

“While I share your sentiment, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Minter and Staunton tried to protest. He had them both killed where they stood.”

Her face hardened. “So, they’re good enough to die protecting their lands and families, but you are not.”

He clenched his fists at his side as he forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of what he’ll do to me. I am afraid for you, the girls, and our servants, though.”

She waved away his fears with a dismissive hand. Then she pursed her lips in thought. “You know, there are some we could easily lose. Your father and brother have no need of any of their servants who have remained behind. And I’ve never liked that old man who wears the armor.”

“I’m not sending Old Soldier to John,” Robin said quietly.

The man had been one of Robin’s few friends growing up. What his real name was, no one actually knew. He’d come into his father’s service without giving one. One day he called himself an old soldier and the name had apparently stuck. When Robin was a child that was the name he learned.

“You’re the man of the house now—you figure out who we should send away,” his mother snapped.

Robin closed his eyes. He didn’t want to send any, but he didn’t see a way around it. “Lila, then—there’s never been a thing she hasn’t burned when it comes to meals,” he said, naming the assistant cook.

“How dare you?” his mother hissed. “She has been with me since I was a girl. She came here with me when I married your father. You seek to hurt me, but must choose another way.”

Robin hated thinking of people in terms of their usefulness. It seemed so callous. As much as he didn’t appreciate being the object of his mother’s ire, he was at least encouraged to learn that there were those she did care about, and was willing to defend.

“Fine,” he said. “I will work something out.” He turned and left before she could say anything else. It had been a gesture of respect on his part, going to her with news that would affect the manor so deeply. Clearly it had been a mistake. One he would not soon repeat.

The walls of the house were too small to contain him in that moment. He went downstairs and grabbed his bow and quiver before heading outside. He walked quickly, with purpose, and within the space of a few deep breaths he was in the embrace of the forest.

He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed it in. Sherwood, which had been more mother and father to him than his own parents. Robert had once joked that sap and not blood ran through Robin’s veins. Times like this he almost felt it to be true.

He threw wide his arms, embracing all that was around him. An unseen wind rustled the tops of the trees far above and the sound seemed to echo, magnified by the thick trunks themselves until it sounded like a whisper, calling over and over.

Robin. Robin.

He knew why others thought the forest was haunted. For him the presence that dwelt there, that made the trees themselves seem to whisper to one another and to him, had always been a friendly one, a comforter and a guide.

“I need your strength and your guidance more than ever,” he said out loud.

Robin. Robin.

Rhythmically, over and over, he could hear his name, and it comforted him as it always had in his darkest hours.

*  *  *

Marian could not sleep. She tossed and turned, her outrage and fear each vying for the upper hand. She tried to pray, but could not keep her mind on task. She just kept reminding herself over and over that soon Richard would be home and all would be set right.

Except for the families of the two nobles who lost their lives trying to stand up to John.

Anger ripped through her anew, tinged with a hatred she had never known before. It was so powerful that she began to shake. She rose with the dawn. She needed to do something before she went insane. So she dressed and hurried down to the stables.

The horse master met her there.

“Milady, I was not expecting you.” His voice matched his hair, frazzled and distressed.

“It’s alright. If I could just have a bridle, I can manage to get my own mount.”

He shook his head sadly, clucking his tongue. “You cannot have your favorite.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Someone at the docks should have returned Merryweather to the stables by now. “Explain yourself.” Her throat was tight around the words.

The man dropped his eyes. “My stable boy was clumsy with her—she has a nasty cut on her leg, and another on her flank.”

It was a lie—of that she could be certain. Murther wouldn’t have returned her,
couldn’t
have done so. He would be halfway across the sea now.

Still, she had to be sure.

“Show her to me,” she said.

The man bowed. “As you wish,” he responded. “Please follow me.” He turned and led the way into the stables, and her fear heightened. Moments later she cast her eyes upon Merryweather. A freshly-stitched wound crossed her left flank, the edges pinched together by a strand of horsehair. The area had been shaved, all hair scraped away, and she could see that the wound, though treated, pulsed with an angry crimson fever. Another cut on Merryweather’s leg lay open, covered in a thick ointment that caught dirt in its surface.

She reached out and put a hand on the horse’s neck, and the animal jerked at the contact. Cooing to soothe her, Marian slid her hand up to her mane, which was crusted with a dark substance. She swallowed hard as she recognized it to be blood.

“You say a boy was careless with him?”

“Yes, milady, but not to worry,” he replied. “The boy won’t trouble no one no more. We’ve dismissed him from service.”

With that the stall tilted, growing dark at the edges. Heat ran up her throat and her mouth went foul. She thought she was going to be sick.

Murther. Poor sweet soul.
He was dead. Deep in her soul she knew it to be true. She had sent him on a mission, and now his blood was on her hands.

No.
Not her hands. She held part of the blame for sending him, but someone else had done the deed. Yet who could have killed the boy? Who could have possibly guessed at his mission?

She had to assume that the letter had been intercepted, and that John knew there was someone who conspired against him. Most likely the Sheriff knew, as well. Neither had said anything to her, or hindered her in any way, so for now her involvement was still secret.

“Heal swiftly,” she whispered to the horse. Then she forced herself to turn to the stable master. “I still require a mount.” She concentrated, keeping locked behind her breastbone the tremor that threatened to climb into her voice.

“I will have one saddled for you at once,” he said.

She nodded.

*  *  *

Half a turn of the glass later she pulled herself into the saddle of a beautiful white horse with long legs and a sleek musculature that vibrated with power. As she settled into her seat, the stable master handed her the reins.

“Her name is Snowcap. She’s a bit headstrong. Good on the road or trail but if you point her at any obstacle, she’ll jump it and you won’t be able to stop her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marian said, as she gathered up the reins.

“Steer clear of any river banks or fences and she’ll do fine.”

Marian pressed her heels to the animal’s flanks, and moments later was free of the castle. She nudged the horse into a fast gallop, her dress flapping in the wind. Her riding clothes were still in the castle, waiting to be returned to their usual place in the stable. Her dress hiked up her legs, but there was none to see and her grief barred her from caring. The wind stung her eyes, pulling away her tears for the innocent stable boy who’d been killed in her service. She gave herself to the run, letting her mind go blank as she screamed into the air.

When her tears had finally stopped coming, she slowed Snowcap to a trot. She’d allowed the horse her own head, and the beast chose the road leading to the port. She steadied herself. Maybe she should head straight for the boat, trusting in God to get her there safely. She was the niece of the one true king—surely that would keep her safe from harm. Maybe she was the only one who could go. The only one with a position to take the
Kestrel
and fetch her uncle.

If she vanished, though, trouble would rain down on Chastity.

Her friend would have urged her to go, would’ve told her that she could take care of herself. Even if Marian could ignore the danger, though, Chastity wasn’t the only one who might be forced to pay. There was the horse master who would doubtless be blamed if she failed to return. They might even go after Jansa, since the steward had seen the two of them talking. The very high profile that might keep Marian safe could also bring harm to innocents, and people for whom she cared.

She slowed her horse to a walk to let the animal cool down as the war raged on in her heart and mind. She looked up at the sky, gone iron gray with an oncoming storm, settling into the hypnotic rhythm of Snowcap’s canter.

The horse jerked.

The animal’s muscles coiled beneath her. Marian had learned to ride practically before she could walk, so well-honed skills kept her in the saddle even as her horse bucked and twisted in mid-air. A growl filled Marian’s ears, dark and menacing. It sounded like no animal she’d heard before, rumbling like a wolf and slipping into a long sibilant hiss at the end. Her blood ran cold. She had no weapons with which to fend off any attack.

She peered closely into the brush by the side of the road and after a moment saw two blood red eyes staring back at her. A growl on her other side caused her to whip her head around, and she saw a flash of what looked like black fur. Her stomach twisted and a cold sweat broke on her skin. Evil seemed to permeate the very air she breathed, seeping into her lungs and poisoning her from the inside.

Whatever creatures they were, they were unnatural.

Jerking hard on the reins turned Snowcap’s head, just as a beast of pure darkness lunged at her. Marian twisted, flailing as Snowcap reared. She lost a stirrup and her foot lashed out, thudding into the creature’s skull. It fell onto the road with a hiss, monstrous, larger than a wolf. She heard the growl from its mate and knew that her lucky kick had slowed the one down only for a moment. She could not hope to fend off another attack.

She got Snowcap aimed back down the road toward the castle and kicked as hard as she could. The horse reared again, and Marian barely kept her seat. Dropping to all fours, Snowcap bolted down the road. She took a dozen strides and then kicked out with her hind legs, nearly sending Marian flying.

Marian heard a thud and knew that the horse must be fighting off one of the beasts. She kicked her in the ribs again and the frightened animal leaped forward as Marian held on for her life. She did not look back, did not turn at all.

Simply held on and prayed.

*  *  *

Snowcap’s hooves slipped on the flagstone. The horse snorted and stumbled, trying to stop. Other horses in their stalls began to neigh and shake their heads at the commotion. The master of horse ran to meet her, grabbing the bridle and saddle, hanging his weight off her to steady the mare.

For a moment, Marian tensed, fearing that the horse would fall with her on its back, but the man’s weight lent enough balance to stop that.

“Is everything alright, milady?” he asked.

“I thought she could use a bit of a run,” Marian answered, slipping down the other side. Then she hurried out of the stables without another word of explanation.

She fled to her chambers. Her dress hung heavy with her own sweat and her fear left a bitter, stinging stench on the surface of her skin. Part of her felt silly, like a girl who startled easily, but in her heart she knew that wasn’t the case. Something had been on that road—something that was not natural. Were they watching, waiting in ambush for anyone trying to go to the docks? Or were they simply predators looking for prey?